Remember way back when I used to stalk an Iron(wo)man at my old law firm? If not, here’s the short: I saw a car in the parking lot with the M-dot on the hitch. This was right after my first Olympic distance race in 2011, and naturally, I was hooked. So I decided that I would become best friends with this person. Even though I only saw his or her car every day. Then I finally saw HER, and she looked awesome.
But I was too scared to say “hi” – so instead I just took a picture of her (totally creep, I know). And I proceeded to have all sort of fantasies (ah-hem, triathlon fantasies…like riding a tandem bike) about her… even after I broke my foot and I was in a boot. I was still on the bike with her.
…to the point where my pal at TRIing to Be Athletic made me a drawing for my obsession (boot included).
Anyway, I never met her. I changed law firms, and that was that. (You were probably hoping that I ran into her… and that we really ARE best friends. No, sorry.)
So anyway, I feel like I had MY very own Ironman stalker today. As in, I was the one being stalked! Wahhooooo! My very own stalker!!! So exciting.
Okay. SO I am exaggerating. [Like, a lot.]
But there is a point, I promise.
So I’m walking to the elevator and someone says, “Which Ironman did you do?”
And I turn around, and I feel like a complete fraud. I guess he saw my tattoo. Or maybe my car in the parking deck, which I had just exited.
“Oh, uh…. Coeur d’Alene.”
And I felt my face get really red. Why?
Because I had just finished doing an Ironman of bad food choices on my lunch break… really did my emotional eating addiction some serious justice. Felt like I was wearing the cheeseburger and ice cream ON MY FACE when he asked me.
Ironman Fraud. Ironman Fraud. I wanted to scream. I am a an Ironman Fraud who just ate Wendy’s AND Ice Cream and I LIKED IT!!!!!!
So we chatted, and he was super nice. Turns out he’s not an Ironman stalker, but rather an Ironman himself—-and he was coming in from his lunch-time workout. Stud.
But I tell you, I was so embarrassed for what I had just eaten. I might as well have been standing there buck naked to show the man the exact fat cells created from my lunch. Yes, Coeur d’Alene was very hilly, but check out this new stretch mark! Whooooooooohoooooo!
So, the purpose of the Ironman tattoo and 140.6 sticker on the car has been realized. I cannot get as big as boat and give up on triathlon dreams… or I will be feeling like this forever. (At the Waffle House, talking about the days when I did something great, per the Expert.)
Yes, I have to slow down and go easier. But in my quest for relaxation and all things zen (I went to Hot Yoga this morning, for Pete’s sake!)… I need to not sabotage myself. (E.g., I did yoga instead of running. I want to make sure that I am completely unprepared for Augusta 70.3).
I have no idea how to make myself right… the right way. No idea at all.
But it was nice to have a fellow Ironman around… at just the right time… to point out something… that he didn’t even know I needed.
Progress not perfection. Repeat after me…